Mason met her gaze, losing all teasing, all embarrassment. “We’re not talking about me.”
Not an answer. Jazz cleared her throat. “I really like you,” she said. “I’m surprised at myself because I vowed never to like a Shifter again.” She lifted her hand. “But, don’t worry, I understand. We’re from completely different worlds. When this is over, I’ll go back home and read fortunes in the French Quarter, and you’ll come make instruments in this workshop until you find a Shifter woman who’s your one true mate. I wouldn’t mind a postcard from you from time to time, but you’ll live your life, and I’ll live mine.”
Jazz tried to keep up the brave tone and speak matter-of-factly. Her voice faltered on the last words, though, and her aching loneliness scratched at her throat.
Mason laid down the piece of guitar he’d held and came to Jazz. He stopped a foot away from her, just out of reach.
“I told you.” His voice was low, filled with anger. “I kissed you because I wanted to. I made love to you because I wanted to. You might have once been with a Feline dirtbag scratching an itch, but I don’t pick up and put down females to prove I can. In fact, I—”
Mason broke off, his mouth stiffening, then he jerked himself away and returned to the guitar.
“In fact, what?” Jazz asked. When Mason didn’t answer, she marched over to him, positioning herself right behind his strong back. “In fact, what? What were you going to say to me?”
Mason swung on her so fast Jazz had to take a step backward. Mason’s eyes had gone the light gray of his wolf as he leaned down to her.
“In fact, I’ve never met a woman I wanted to be with as much as I want to be with you. I want to keep on being with you, and knowing you’ll go home again, so far away, once we find this fucking healer makes me sick. In fact.”
“Oh.” Jazz’s heart began to pound, and she knew he could sense that—a change in her scent, her rising body heat. “You know, they say that you don’t really know whether you’ll get along with someone until you take a trip together. Then you truly find out whether you like each other. We’ll have this trip to find that out.”
Mason leaned closer to her. “Yeah? And then what? What do I have to offer you when we come back? I’ve got nowhere to go but a house with my three brothers, aunt, Broderick’s mate, and a couple of strays. You live a long way from my Shiftertown in a house with personality. You’ll want a better life than Shifter chaos and my pain-in-the-ass brothers, but I hate the thought of you out there by yourself, unprotected and alone. I don’t want anything to mess with you, and that includes your dumb-ass house. So what am I supposed to do?”
His anguish was raw. Jazz had seen a similar look in Dale when he’d left her to be with his true mate. He’d been distressed to hurt Jazz, but the quiet happiness in him had been so real that Jazz hadn’t had the heart to do anything but kiss his cheek and wish him well.
Mason had the same distress but not the underlying happiness. He was angry, lonely in spite of living in the middle of his big family, and miserable. If his aunt didn’t survive it would hurt him profoundly.
Jazz laid her hands on his shoulders and stepped against him. “We’ll find the healer,” she said softly. “We’ll save Aunt Cora. Then, we’ll talk.”
Mason’s face softened the slightest bit, though Jazz didn’t know whether it was from her promise or her nearness. “I heard that it’s never good when women say that,” he muttered.
Jazz stopped his words by kissing him. His mouth was hot, more slow goodness, but Jazz sensed Mason’s worry and impatience cutting into his burning need.
She slid her arms around him, pulling him closer, letting him know she was there for him, whenever he needed her, for however long.
Jazz knew at that moment, as the kiss grew deeper, that she’d always answer when Mason called, no matter where she was for the rest of her life.
* * *
The small cargo plane that took them northward was piloted by a thin, weather-beaten man named Marlo who assured Jazz he’d flown all over the world in planes far more rickety than this.
Jazz didn’t find this encouraging, and by the look on his face, neither did Mason. But Mason ushered Jazz aboard with his hand on the small of her back, carrying the duffel bag that held clothing and other necessities for them both. Because Jazz hadn’t had time to pack anything before she and Mason had fled her house, she’d asked for time to pop into a discount store to buy herself a few tops, a pair of jeans, underwear, and a jacket. Mason had insisted on paying for it all, in cash.
The plane jerked and clanged as it climbed into the sky. Marlo invited them to sit in the front with him, but Mason declined, looking askance at the beat-up chairs in the cockpit. Jazz preferred sitting on the pile of blankets in the back, snuggled up against Mason, in any case.
“Marlo flies Shifters around all over the place,” Mason explained, speaking into Jazz’s ear over the drone of the engines. “Liam and the other Shiftertown leaders pay him well. He won’t betray us.”
“Good to know,” Jazz said, trying to feel better.
The flight was long, the hours passing tediously. Marlo had to land somewhere in Montana, refueling, and then unhurriedly took them skyward again. Jazz liked the time alone with Mason, the two of them sitting in companionable silence, the engines too loud for them to talk over.
They landed well after dark—where they were, Jazz had no idea.
“We’re not far north of Anchorage,” Marlo told them as they disembarked into a cool bite of air. “Friend of mine runs things here. Never says a word when I want to come in and out. He’s got a pickup you can borrow. As long as you bring it back fueled up, he’s not bothered.”
“Thanks,” Mason said.
“Hey, it’s all part of the service.”
Marlo waved them off as he shut down the plane, talking jovially to a guy who’d jogged over after they’d landed, neither man paying attention to Jazz and Mason. Mason led Jazz around the hanger to a pickup that had keys dangling from the ignition.
“So,” Mason said as he started the truck, Jazz pulling on her jacket in the passenger seat. “Where to?”
“I don’t know,” Jazz answered blankly. “I’ve never been to Alaska before.” She shivered. “I’m already cold.”
Mason’s grin flashed in the darkness. “Have you ever been outside Louisiana?”
“Sure,” Jazz said at once. “My grandmother and I traveled when I was in high school, driving all the way from New Orleans to Charleston. But we never left the South.” She let out a breath. “And I’ve been to Texas, and now Alaska.”
Mason’s chuckle rumbled over her. He pulled out, following the only road into the darkness. “Well, now I’ve been to Louisiana, and Alaska. And Wyoming when I was a kid. That’s where we lived before Shifters were outed.”
“Are you saying you and I don’t get out much?” Jazz asked.
“I’m saying we’re out now.” Mason stepped on the accelerator and the trees on either side of the road began to flow by. “Marlo told me about a motel in town where they won’t ask too many questions.”
“Nice of him. But I’ll book the room. I don’t want anyone calling the cops if they see your Collar.”
Mason agreed, and in the small town they entered, they found a motel that looked remarkably like the one they’d stayed in back in Texas. Jazz went inside to ask for a room—Mason paid, handing Jazz a wad of cash.
Making guitars and music boxes must be lucrative, Jazz decided. She returned with keys—key cards this time—and they moved into the small room at the end of the building.
Jazz thought the long trip might have worn them out too much to make love, but she was wrong. As soon as Mason slid between the sheets with her, his body bare, Jazz came plenty awake. He loved her swiftly, and then more slowly, his touch alternating from gentle to firm and back to caressing. He never closed his eyes, watching her with a steady gaze that held deep passion.
They fell asleep at last, exhausted and s
pent, Jazz in the curve of Mason’s strong arm. At least Jazz was exhausted—she saw the gleam of Mason’s eyes in the moonlight as she drifted into pleasant and quiet slumber.
* * *
In the morning, Mason cranked open the blinds in their room to see blue, clear sky, and a massive mountain rising in the distance.
“Awesome,” Jazz said, peering out under his arm. “That’s Denali, isn’t it? Used to be called Mount McKinley. Tallest mountain in North America. Twenty-thousand feet, or something.”
Mason liked her excitement. Jazz seemed able to grab enjoyment out of everything in life. He regarded the snow-capped peak with approval. Mountains, especially prominent ones, were usually sacred spaces, which boded well for their hunt.
His optimism faded after they downed their takeout breakfast and Jazz got started with her psychic search. No matter how much sage smoke choked the room or how many cards Jazz turned over, or how many chants she recited, the stones remained cold, spent, and dormant, no revelation of where the healer was, or if he was even still in this part of Alaska.
“That’s what happens sometimes,” Jasmine said glumly as the afternoon waned. This far north, the light lingered, but Jasmine’s buoyancy flagged. “If a lot of energy courses through the stones, they need to recharge. I hoped enough time would have passed since their last flare, but they probably need to bathe in sunlight and moonlight.”
She laid the stones on the windowsill as she spoke, their myriad colors catching the sun and spangling her face. Mason sorted them into patterns in his mind, thinking about an inlay design he’d make, using pieces from stones she loved.
“There’s another way to track him,” Mason said after she waved her hand over the stones and turned from the window.
“How?” Jasmine’s question held skepticism. “Look in the local phonebook for Shifter healers? Ask around for a weird-looking guy with white braids? I’m out of ideas.”
“Close,” Mason rumbled. “I don’t care how much of a loner a Shifter claims to be, all Lupines and Felines need to be around people at some point. Even bears, who enjoy being solitary, need to unwind with friends. A Shifter who lives alone will seek out some kind of company, even if it’s human. And a Shifter’s favorite habitat away from home is …” He stopped and waited for her to guess.
“Where?” Jasmine asked eagerly.
“A bar.”
“Cool.” Jasmine shoved her cards together and stuffed them into their bag. “Let me put on something cute, and we’ll be off.”
Mason scowled. “It’s useless for me to argue for you to stay here, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” Jasmine headed to the bathroom, her hips swaying. “And don’t even think about going without me. If you walk into a bar alone, every eye will be focused on you, wondering who you are, and heaven help you if they see your Collar. If I’m with you, all the guys there will be staring at my legs. Or my boobs. You could do a striptease and decorate your Collar with neon lights, and they wouldn’t notice.”
“Sure,” Mason said, and then called as the bathroom door closed, “Not making me feel better!”
* * *
Turned out that the closest bar to the motel was a little bit out of town down a narrow road. It reminded Mason, when they walked inside, of the roadhouses Mason went to with his brothers that allowed Shifters.
This bar was quieter, with locals who came to have a beer with friends as well as campers and tourists from the nearby national parks. The two groups tended to keep separate, the locals at the bar and the pool tables, the tourists at the small tables in the middle of the room. The tourists talked about the big fish they almost caught; the locals talked about who in town was doing what, or focused their attention on the television.
Mason needed to listen to the locals but he didn’t want to push in among them. That would guarantee that they’d shut up or study him too closely, despite Jasmine’s claim that all focus would be on her. Mason guided Jasmine to a table on the edge of the tourists’ territory, near the pool tables. Jasmine sat down, smiled at the waitress who took their order, and asked for a beer.
The waitress glanced curiously at them when she returned and set bottles in front of them, but with no more curiosity than she would any other out-of-towner. Mason’s zipped-up hoodie hid his Collar well, and no one in this chilly part of the world questioned a man keeping his jacket on even inside. Most men in the bar wore thick shirts with padded vests or light coats. The draft when someone opened the door was chilly.
Jasmine didn’t talk much, only sipped her beer and glanced around, fixing her gaze on each man at the pool tables in turn.
Testing their auras, Mason realized. She could sense a Shifter by aura the same way Mason could scent them.
Every once in a while, Jasmine turned to Mason and gave him a little shake of her head. Mason couldn’t scent anything either. He supposed they’d have to go into every bar in this part of Alaska and have Mason sniff and Jasmine stare before they found the healer. That should make them popular.
Jasmine’s idea that the guys in the bar would mostly be looking at her instead of Mason proved to be true. The problem with that was that Mason’s protective instincts woke up and wouldn’t climb the hell down.
Every time a man so much as glanced at Jasmine, and especially if that glance lingered, a growl started in Mason’s throat. One guy who let his gaze follow the flowering vines of Jasmine’s tattoos earned a fierce glare from Mason, and Mason felt his eyes become wolf.
The guy started and turned away quickly. Jasmine slid her hand across the table and rested it on Mason’s arm. “Calm down.”
“I can’t.” Mason’s voice was guttural. “I don’t want them even looking at you.”
Jasmine regarded him a moment. “Then maybe we’d better leave.”
Mason shook his head. “It will be the same any place we go. And I’ve decided I don’t want you at that motel without me. I’d go crazy worrying about you.”
Jasmine looked at him in worry. “So what do we do?”
Mason pressed his hands flat on the table. “I’ll control it. I have to. I’ll be all right.”
Jasmine gave him a doubtful look but started to slide her touch away.
Mason caught her hand. “No. Don’t let go of me.”
Jasmine stilled a moment, then she closed her fingers around Mason’s and held on.
That helped. Mason shut his eyes, willing the wolf in him to quiet.
But the wolf knew his mate. The heat spreading through Mason’s heart knew it too. He needed to latch on to Jasmine and not let her go. Not for anything in the world.
They sat there for a time, Jasmine’s cool touch the only thing anchoring Mason to his sane self.
It was a tourist, not a local, that finally made Mason snap.
A man in a red plaid shirt, his light brown beard trimmed and combed, his face red from windburn, rose from his chair and sauntered over to their table.
“You don’t look like you want to be with him, honey,” he said to Jasmine. “You’re more than welcome to join us at our table.”
Jasmine looked up with a smile of thanks, but no thanks. All would have been well if the man had shrugged, grinned, and moved back to his friends.
But the man was drunk, and he flushed with anger at Jasmine’s brush-off. “Seriously, honey, you can do way better than him. Come on.” He put his hand on Jasmine’s bare, tattooed arm.
Mason rose in silent fury and launched himself at the man’s throat. No warning, no noise, just the killer in him going after a male who dared touch his mate.
The man flailed back in belated alarm. Mason reached for his neck … and found himself blocked by an even larger man whose eyes were pure wolf, his scent, Shifter. The Shifter’s black sweatshirt rode down his neck, showing a throat bare and unadorned.
“Not worth it, kid,” the Shifter said, a growl edging his voice. “Why don’t we go have a drink somewhere else?”
Chapter Twelve
Jazz stared in shoc
k at the man who held Mason back with ease. Well, not exactly ease—his muscles bulged under his sweatshirt as he stood as a solid wall between Mason and his target.
The man was Shifter. His aura screamed it. The psychic cloud around him was much like Mason’s but older, more experienced. Mason was sparkling with energy, while this man was more somber. Jazz hadn’t seen him while she was scanning the room—he must have come in just in time to see Mason go for the obnoxious man.
This Shifter wore no Collar, like the man they’d seen in the smoke. But this Shifter and the one in the vision were clearly two different people. The man who held Mason had dark hair, no beard, and light gray eyes. In fact, his eyes were much like Mason’s, making Jazz realize he was a Lupine.
“Yes,” Jazz said quickly. “Let’s go. Come on, Mason.”
She got under the new Shifter’s reach and touched Mason’s shoulder. He moved his gaze to her stiffly, as though he had to force his eyeballs to turn.
Jazz saw that her touch had reached him, though. Mason’s jaw unclenched long enough for him to whisper to the other Shifter, “Take me out of here, before I kill him.”
“That’s right, son,” the Shifter said loudly. “We’ll go. Tony,” he called to the bartender. “Give these guys a round and put it on my tab.”
Tony must have known the Shifter well, because he only nodded and started setting up beer bottles.
The man who’d propositioned Jazz looked unhappy but his friends yelled at him to give up and sit down. He didn’t have a chance with someone like her, they said—she was way out of his league.
Jazz carefully didn’t look at any of them as she took up her jacket and walked close beside Mason and the other Shifter past the tables and out of the bar.
Once they’d reached the far end of the parking lot, Mason jerked free of the other Shifter.
“Who the hell are you?” Mason put himself directly in front of Jazz so the Shifter would have to reach around him to get anywhere near her.
“Calm yourself,” the older Shifter said irritably. “Could you have tried to broadcast any louder that you’re Shifter? A long way from home too?” He flicked his hand at Mason’s neck where his Collar now peeped over his half-unzipped jacket.
Wild Things Page 12
